


Make Firm the Shuddering Breath

by jesterlady



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Background Character Death, Catharsis, Confessions, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s04e09 Lancelot du Lac, Episode: s04e12-13 The Sword in the Stone, F/M, Fix-It, Minor Character Death, Missing Scene, One Shot, Romance, Swords & Fencing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesterlady/pseuds/jesterlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur confronts Morgana in the throne room and she lets slip a crucial bit of information about Gwen and Lancelot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Firm the Shuddering Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Some lines are from the episode. The title is from Rudyard Kipling.  
> A/N: Besides needing the truth about Gwen's so called indiscretion to come to light, I propose one theory here: villains like to take credit for their villainous deeds. Monologuing, you know. Granted it's more effective and horrific to not take credit, but I think even someone like Morgana would want to get that one final dig in before death.

Arthur adjusted his sword and prepared to burst through the door. He had four at his back and a wound in his side, a legendary blade in his hand. But he did not know what might be on the other side of the door, what horrors Morgana might have ready to unleash upon him.

It had been a harrowing few months and so many things had happened to him. He'd been betrayed by so many who he loved, he had been sent from his home, he had been chased, hunted, wounded, found unworthy. It had been difficult to breathe and not just because of his ribs. For one shining moment as he had pulled the sword from the stone there had been surety in his heart, but now here he was again, confused, his confidence shaky. Yet he had a duty to himself, to his people, to those standing behind him now. Above all things, Arthur believed in his duty.

"For the love of Camelot!" he cried as he ran and heard the others echo his words.

He thought he was ready for anything, but when they came through the door, he slowed to a stop, confusion at the scene set before him. It was simply Helios standing to one side and Morgana lounging on their father's throne.

His every memory of her rose in his mind and he suddenly wished for any way to avoid this confrontation, to make it not end this way.

"Welcome, dear brother," she said, the disdain dripping from her voice. "It's been far too long." She got up and started sauntering toward him. "I apologize if you had a difficult reception. It's hard to know who to trust these days."

He walked toward her, holding his sword in a gesture of peace. He swallowed hard because he had to know, he had to speak his mind, before he could even think about fighting his own sister.

They stopped, facing each other, closer than they had been in months, but further apart than they'd been in years.

“What happened to you, Morgana? I thought we were friends.”

“As did I," she said and her eyes echoed something of her old compassion before her eyelids slid down over them like shutters. "But, alas, we were both wrong.”

He wanted to shout at her, to beg, to plead, to shake the sense back in if it were possible. To make her the girl he'd grown up beside.

“You can’t blame me for my father’s sins,” was all he could honestly say.

“It’s a little late for that," she said, the mocking tone back. "You’ve made it perfectly clear how you feel about me and my kind. You’re not as different from Uther as you’d like to think.”

There was only one response to that and he knew it would seal her hatred of him forever. But it was the truth and it was with a mournful heart, a cold acceptance, and a dread of the future, that he made his reply.

“Nor are you.”

She withdrew instantly and a glitter of manic energy seemed to pulse over her face.

“You think yourself so noble. But you are a hypocrite of the worst kind. You surround yourself with common knights and pretend to enjoy equality, yet you mistreat your servants. Not that he doesn't deserve it, mind you, but we're on your sins right now, my brother. You hold up Uther's prejudices against magic though magic has saved your life more times than even I know. You have one of the most powerful sorcerers possible protecting you even as you slaughter his kind. I do not understand how you can live with yourself."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Morgana," he said, thoroughly confused. He did not know of any sorcerer protecting him. She was clearly mad. "You are mistaken."

She laughed, none of the joy of life in it that he remembered.

"And you are foolish as well. It is so easy to trick you, to play you for an imbecile. You could not fathom that your little sister could possibly be plotting to take over the kingdom, nor could your mind comprehend an uncle who murdered your father. Every little thing just goes straight past you and you reap the consequences. Instead of being happily married, you sent your little bride away. Your low, baseless bride."

His brain was reeling with this information; he didn't know what she was speaking of. Agravaine killed his father? But it was magic, that sorcerer, who had done that. What did she mean he could have been happily married? The end of his possible marriage had nothing to do with Morgana.

"What did I do to make you hate me so much?"

Guinevere spoke up from behind him and her voice sent a painful spasm through his heart. His need for her had warred with his anger at her betrayal every minute since the day he'd banished her. He so desired to do the right thing and be the kind of King, the kind of man, he should be, but her presence beckoned to him like a light in the dark and he didn't seem able to stay away even if it was the wise thing to do.

"It's not what you did, it's what you're destined to do," Morgana said. Her voice was filled with hate and Arthur couldn't fathom it when once the two had been so close. "And I'm sorry, Gwen, but I can never let that happen. You will never be Queen. I saw to that."

"How did you see to that?" Merlin's sharp voice rang out in the hall.

There was an odd note of triumph in Merlin's voice as if he knew something everyone else didn't, as if he was about to get answers to questions he had long sought. Arthur couldn't understand that either. In fact, he had barely comprehended a single thing that had happened since they'd entered the room.

Morgana swung to look at Merlin and Arthur was shocked to see even more hatred visible on her face, almost tangibly reaching out to Merlin as if seeking to destroy him.

"Oh, Merlin, come to join your betters, have you? Always sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. But no matter, for you are all going to die. It's simple, Merlin, I enchanted Gwen so that she would go to Lancelot. Not the dear, noble knight, but an empty Shade, completely under my bidding. Poor Arthur, you sent her away for something she could not help doing."

"What?" Arthur gasped out, his entire being bent almost as if there was a physical blow being dealt him.

"I don't remember," Guinevere said, her voice empty and blank, and Arthur turned back toward her. She looked as if Morgana's words had taken everything from her. "How did-"

"Shouldn't wear bracelets given to us by old lovers, Gwen," Morgana mocked. "You never know what secrets they might be holding. In that, you did seal your own destruction. But now you can go to your death knowing that you were wrongfully accused," she paused spitefully, "and now there will never be a reunion."

Arthur couldn't breathe. He looked at Guinevere and she looked as devastated as he felt, her eyes flicking toward his in a mute plea that he couldn't read when once he knew every line and expression on her face. He suddenly remembered yelling at her, almost killing Lancelot, the utter wrath that had filled his heart. He felt the loneliness of months apart from Guinevere, the pain she must have suffered, the loyalty she'd shown him even after he had shunned her. Everything narrowed to a single point of pain and blame and he turned his attention to Morgana, his gaze so intense she blanched for a second.

"Morgana!" Arthur yelled loudly, and his rage was fierce and strong and there was no affection left for her. "We loved you. You were our own, but now there is nothing that will not stop me from killing you."

She cocked her head as if pitying him, a small smile playing around her lips.

"I’m going to enjoy killing you, Arthur Pendragon. Not even Emrys can save you now.” She held out her hand toward him. Tristan and Isolde behind him pulled their swords as did Arthur. He could feel new strength coursing through him as he did. "Your blades cannot stop me," she said, laughing. "Hleap on bæc." Nothing happened and she suddenly looked confused. Arthur was too, but he readied himself for anything. "Hleap on bæc," she said again.

There was nothing. No magic, no power, nothing. Arthur had a brief thought that someone was indeed watching out for him. But that thought was lost in a wave of sorrow that did nothing to diminish the cold justice he was going to heap on her.

"Not so powerful now, my lady," he said, almost gently for the murderous rage he was still feeling. Morgana looked terrified but he felt no pity for her. Helios thrust her behind him and she started to run. "After her!" he yelled and felt rather than saw Merlin and Guinevere both run after her.

He was concerned for them, Morgana was more than either their match with a sword, but he couldn't concentrate on that now. More men rushed into the hall behind him. He trusted Tristan and Isolde to watch his back, he gauged Helios, and he charged.

It was a weary fight and his ribs pained him with every move he made. The rage aided him for awhile, but soon it became a liability and he lost focus. He could not see beyond the pain. Only his endless training kept him from losing his life. He kept one hand at his side and the other swung his sword, but it was a battle with only one possible end. He was too tired, too wounded, too weak. He could not control his breath, he could not find air.

And he fell.

And he was saved.

And someone else gave up their life for him.

He could do nothing but weep while Tristan held Isolde in his arms as she gasped out her dying words, each breath growing slower and more distant. His own body was aching, begging him to lie down and die, but Arthur forced himself to stand and watch and honor her.

There was a sound and Merlin and Guinevere came back into the room. His eyes ran over both of them, but they looked unhurt. They did not have Morgana with them but there would be time for questions later. For now, he was bound by the tableau of a man holding his beloved in her final moments.

Arthur's eyes caught Guinevere's and held them. Her own compassionate face was streaked with tears and she looked at him and he tried to read her heart and mind in that gaze. Could she see how much he loved her? Could she know how much he regretted his words to her? Could she believe that he never wanted to be parted from her again?

He wasn't sure exactly what happened next but he remembered his knees buckling and Merlin moving to catch him. There was a pain in his side and he felt like the air left his body, Guinevere's worried voice sounded above him, her hand clutched his, and then there was nothing but blackness.

When he woke up he was in his bed in his room. It was a mess. It had been ruined in his absence, plundered in spite under Morgana's occupation, but that did not matter to him because Guinevere was sitting at his side, her face buried on the covers next to him, and she was still holding his hand.

He took a moment to drink in the sight of her. She was alive, unharmed, beautiful, dressed in blue and white. She was there, physically in front of him, not the phantom of his thoughts and memories. And she was loyal and true and possibly still loved him even after all she'd been through because of him.

He didn't want to wake her, he was sure she'd been awake for far too long doing more for others than for herself, but he couldn't stop himself from speaking. He had to speak to her, to apologize, to find out what she was thinking and feeling.

"Guinevere," he said, reaching for her, and he winced as the pain caught in his ribs.

Her head shot up and she almost hit him in the face with her outstretched hand.

"Arthur! You're awake. Oh, I'm sorry. Oh, did I hurt you?"

"No, no," he said, "I'm fine."

She quieted and looked nervous, her eyes looking everywhere but at him.

"If you want me to go…to return to Ealdor," she said.

"I want you to stay," he said firmly. "Guinevere, you heard the same proof I did. You cannot still doubt yourself."

"But I still-"

"You did nothing," he said and he hoped she felt the truth of those words in everything he said as he did. "I am so sorry for what I said to you. Can you forgive me?"

"You had every right to say it," she said, her eyes cast downward. "You could not know what happened."

"Nor could you," he said, reaching for her, but unable to. She looked up and he beckoned to her. "It's a bit difficult for me, would you mind…coming up here?"

"Arthur…but you're…" she said, looking a bit scandalized, but he couldn't be bothered to worry about silly things like propriety at the moment.

He just needed her, needed her to know, to absolve herself.

She stood and tucked her skirts neatly before sitting on the edge of the bed, nearer to him, but not as near as he'd like. 

"Guinevere, whatever's happened between us, I don't care. I just don't ever want to lose you." He took her hands between his. "Will you marry me?"

She smiled and tears came into her eyes. He was relieved because the wounded look she'd borne since that horrible day was finally gone. 

"Yes, yes, with all my heart."

He grinned at her and tugged her toward him, she fell against him and jarred his side, but he barely noticed. He simply pulled her closer, holding her head against his as his lips found hers. She pressed her hands to his chest and his heart beat faster under their touch. She felt so alive and he found he had missed her kisses. He'd forgotten how good they felt or, rather, there had been no way for him to truly remember them the longer she was away from him. 

She was his strength, the force that drove him, the wisdom behind every just decision, the kindness behind every compassionate act, the lightheartedness in every jest. He felt warmer simply by being with her. The ache that had filled his heart since he found her with Lancelot was gone, vanished entirely. He felt confident and more assured of himself. He didn't think there was anything he could not do with her at his side.

There were still many questions, the fate of Morgana, the fate of his knights, a proper burial for Isolde, a place for Tristan, the state of his kingdom. Morgana's confession had raised many queries concerning his uncle and his father's death and magic and exactly how much of this last year was due to Morgana's meddling. A wedding to arrange was certainly in order. But for now, he was here, here with his Guinevere. The wrong done to her was now lifted and the betrayal he had felt was non-existent. 

There was much he wanted to do and say, but, for now he was content. It was as if he could breathe again.


End file.
